


Celestial Matters

by boboton



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Draco, Clubbing, Drunk Sex, First Time, Hero Complex, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Resolved Sexual Tension, Top Harry, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boboton/pseuds/boboton
Summary: They touched long before they ever talked.





	Celestial Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Hmmm why is it that it has become a habit of mine to write fanfiction at 4:00 in the morning? Apparently this is my peak creative time and I should just never sleep and write about my favorite boys all night long instead.
> 
> I wrote this on my phone while at work at a therapeutic boarding school, so I'm sure some editing would not be remiss. I'm posting any way, and if you have any editing or storyline suggestions, drop me a line, I'm happy to receive feedback!
> 
> This concept popped into my head and, as many of us have experienced, wouldn't let me get some goddamn sleep until I wrote the dang thing. I hope y'all enjoy!

The first time Draco almost touched him there was deafening wind and icy rain and the sound of the rapidly fluttering wings moving almost as fast as the racing inside his chest. He stretched out his hand as far as it would go, not daring to hope that today would finally be the day, he would triumph, and Potter would hang his head in shame.

Instead, he felt the electric buzz shoot through his system as the downy hairs on his forearm made contact with the wiry, irresistibly masculine, hairs on his. He closed his eyes as his body took in the sensation, and the crowd went wild as Potter once again stole his glory.

• • •

The first time Draco touched him there was fire and burning hot skin and boney hips felt through a raggedy dirty old t-shirt. His stomach swooped either from the death-defying contraption he was being carried away from his pre-determined death on, or perhaps from the feeling of _finally, at last, so warm._ In his terror, looking around the ruins of his supposed grave, his nose brushed the back of his knatted, stinking hair. There was a drifting, hard to pinpoint, subtle undertone of sage underneath the stench of burning, sweating, writhing, fear.

They parted ways.

• • •

The second time they touched was the day of Draco's trial. As he sat there, glaring at his wobbly knees, listening to the prosecution list his unending faults and mistakes, his overstimulated senses caught a hint of sage. His eyes rapidly scanned the packed courtroom and finally locked with the emerald pools across the way. He could feel the weight of the bags of his eyes drooping low, adding thirty years to his face. His throat, which had been numb like the rest of him, now ached with an indescribable _something_. The boy in front of him looked away as he approached the stand.

Draco didn't bother to listen to his impassioned speech detailing all the ways that he had fucked up, all the little moments in which Draco's heart had been so tied up in knots that the infatuation that once terrified and elated him became poisonous and hateful.

His ears did not stop their ringing until they registered the words "acquitted" and "probation." His head whipped up so quickly that his vision was covered in spots. The green orbs were nowhere to be found.

All he remembers of that day is his mother's frail hand on his elbow, leading him down the hallway towards the floo. No Auror escort guards this time. Before they could reach their destination, Draco's eyes, which had been trained on the floor, spotted ratty old sneakers. He slowly lifted his gaze to land on the face of his personal (well, everyone's) savior. The ache in his throat had not left him, and therefore words were impossible for his normally razor sharp tongue.

A movement caught his peripherals, and he glanced down to see a proferred hand. Almost without thought, he lifted his own to touch Potter's bare skin for the first time. It was smoother than he always imagined. Warmer, as if he had been wearing gloves. Firmer, as a man would grip. There was no vertical motion as they clasped hands. Just the lingering sensation of his lungs being squeezed out of his chest and up through his sewn shut mouth.

• • •

The third, fourth, and fifth time they touched, everything around him was bright lights, colorful patterns on the floor, swaying with the pounding music. His vision swam as he felt a hand painfully squeezing his shoulder as he was firmly separated from his dance partner; a feat, considering the hulking giant had been wrapped around him like an octopus clinging to a coral reef.

Draco's eyes found the icy stare of Potter's simultaneously frightening yet erotic, and his already half-hard dick twitched with yearning. He really was such a whore when he was sloshed. As he was pondering the similarities between the eyes that examined him and the fibrous malachite samples he so admired in his extensive crystal collection, his knees decided of their own accord to cease holding his body upright. He therefore found himself unceremoniously in the arms of his lifelong obsession, once again the savior saved him despite himself.

He looked up at the impossibly hard jaw, stubbled with hair, and looking as if it were being clenched painfully tight.

Potter did not let go of him until they apparated to his flat. Somewhere in his mind, it occurred to him to wonder how Potter knew he lived there, but he was so close to his bed that he let go of Potter's arm and stumbled his way to the bedroom.

He didn't feel anything until a warm hand briefly touched his sweaty, matted hair. The touch was gone, as was Potter, before he could be sure that either had ever existed.

• • •

The sixth time they touched, they started and didn't stop. Their hands desperately explored and scratched and pulled but at no point did they separate completely. From the dirty stinking stall in the loo to Potter's enormous, unmade, mess of a bed, the electric current flowing was not made to stop but rather continued to pass between them until Draco couldn't stand it any longer and opened his mouth to finally scream Potter's name. It was the first word he had said to him since before the fire.

 

The first time they talked was tangled up in cotton sheets, hearts racing, legs permanently tangled together.

They never stopped touching.


End file.
